Besides laying out all the work, Stephenson had to make his tools. All their waggons, trucks, carriages, switches, crosses, signals were planned and manufactured under his superintendence, besides meeting and providing for a thousand exigencies constantly occurring in a new enterprise like this, giving full scope to all the sagacity, invention, and good-humour which naturally belonged to him.

The expenses of the road were heavy, and money was not always forthcoming. If the works lagged in consequence of it, the hopes of the directors fell; so that Stephenson's energies were taxed to the utmost during the four years of the work, and he showed, what observation and history both teach us, that efficient men are men of detail, as well as men of great plans.

Remember this, boys—for we sometimes despise little particulars, and the day of small things—that the secret of effective doing lies not only in making wise plans, but in filling up the minutest parts with promptness and fidelity. There must be detail to achieve any great and good work. If you would possess the fruits of learning, you must get them by the toil of daily drudgery. If you undertake to become rich, you must not despise the small gains and little economies by which a fortune is made. If you would obtain a noble Christian manhood, you must not neglect hourly self-restraint, watchfulness, and prayer, or the daily exercise of those humbler virtues and godly industries which make the woof of character.

Stephenson strikingly illustrated the practical force of this principle. The minutest detail of every plan in this new enterprise was thought out and carried on by himself, or under his direct supervision. Both in summer and winter he rose early. Before breakfast you might find him on a morning round, visiting the extensive workshops where their machines and tools were made. Or perhaps "Bobby" is brought to the door, and, mounted on this his favourite horse, he is off fifteen miles to inspect the progress of a viaduct, a ride long enough to whet the appetite for a tempting breakfast, one would think. But nothing tempts him from his frugal habits; he eats "crowdie," and that made by himself, which is nothing more or less than oatmeal hasty-pudding and milk. Again he is off, inspecting the labours of his men all along the line from point to point, pushing the works here, advising there, and inspiring everywhere. "Bobby" is a living witness that one beast at least is not to be scared by a locomotive. He can face the snorting monster without so much as a shy step or a prick of the ears. He afraid? not "Bobby."

Returning home, bills are to be examined perhaps, when every item of expense must be accounted for; or drawings are to be made, or directions given, or letters written.

Several young men were received into his family, to be trained for engineers. A second wife, frugal, gentle, and friendly, superintended his household. Their evenings were passed in study and conversation, brightened by the genial humour of the remarkable man whose genius drew them together, and whose good-tempered pleasantries relieved the heavier tasks of mind and body. The compendium of all his instructions was, Learn for yourselves; think for yourselves; master principles; persevere; be industrious, and there is no fear for you. It is an indication of the value of these instructions that every young man trained under him rose to eminent usefulness. "Ah," he sometimes said, on relating a bit of his own early history, "you don't know what work is, these days." And yet work is work, all the world over.

In spite of the best Stephenson could do, the directors, looking at their unproductive capital, and not fully comprehending all the difficulties to be overcome, sometimes urged greater despatch. "Now, George," said Friend Cropper one day, "thou must get on with the railway; thou must really have it opened by the first of January next."

"Consider the heavy nature of the works, sir," rejoined George, "and how much we have been delayed by want of money, to say nothing of the bad weather. The thing is impossible."

"Impossible!" cried Cropper; "I wish I could get Napoleon to thee; he would tell thee there is no such word as 'impossible.'"

"Tush!" exclaimed George, "don't tell me about Napoleon. Give me men, money, and material, and I'll do what Napoleon couldn't do—drive a railroad over Chat Moss."

He might have retorted, more significantly, by asking the directors what they meant to do; for Liverpool was tunnelled, and Chat Moss railed, before they could agree what kind of power to put on it. There were some who insisted upon using horse-power; but the majority thought that was out of the question. Meeting after meeting was held, debate followed debate, and the whole body became more and more puzzled as the road itself neared completion.

Some kind of machine, but what? Ah, that was the question. You would naturally have thought a locomotive, of course. But no; since parliamentary opposition raged against it, steam had lost ground in the public estimation, and it was very slow in getting back to favour. Locomotives, or travelling engines, as they were called, were hid in a cloud of doubts; and more than ever since the parliamentary debates. They were dangerous, they were frightful, "they could never go fast enough," their utmost speed would not be ten miles an hour. Some of the most distinguished engineers would give no opinion of them at all. They had none. It was certainly hard to patronize them, in spite of their indifference, and possibly their sneers. Certainly, if the poor locomotive depended upon their verdict its fate was sealed.

One staunch friend remained. Stephenson stood faithfully by "Puffing Billy," puffing away in his far off Northumberland home. He never flinched advocating its principles, and urged the directors to try one on the road. They at last ordered one to be built, one that would be of service to the company, and no great nuisance to the public. It was built, and excellent service it did, drawing marl from the cuttings and excavations to fill up the bogs and hollows. Nevertheless, it settled nothing, and convinced nobody not already convinced.

Meanwhile the directors were deluged with projects, plans, and advice for running their road. Scheme upon scheme was let loose upon them. Some engines to go by water-power; some by gas; some by cog-wheels. All the engineering science in the kingdom was ready to engineer for them in its own way; but who among all could pronounce the best way, and, upon the whole, decide which was the right motive power?

A deputation was despatched to Darlington and Stockton to inspect the fixed and locomotive engines employed on that road. But the deputation came back differing so among themselves that the directors were more puzzled than ever. Two professional engineers of high reputation were then sent, who on their return reported in favour of fixed engines: for safety, speed, economy, and convenience, fixed engines by all means; reiterating again and again all the frightful stories of danger and annoyance charged upon steam. They proposed dividing the road into nineteen stages, of a mile and a half in length, and having twenty-one stationary engines at different points to push and draw the trains along. The plan was carefully matured.

Poor Stephenson! how did he feel? "Well," he said, with the calm earnestness of a man of faith, "one thing I know, that before many years railroads will become the highways of the world."

Could the directors accept a project without consulting him? Again they met. What had he to say concerning it? Fight it he did. He dwelt upon its complicated nature, the liability of the ropes and tackling to get out of order, the failure of one engine retarding and damaging and stopping the whole line—a phase of the matter which did not fail to make an impression. The directors were moved. Friend Cropper, however, headed the stationary-engine party, and insisted upon adopting it. "But," answered the others, "ought we to make such an outlay of money without first giving the locomotive a fair trial?" And Stephenson pleaded powerfully, as you may suppose, in its behalf. "Try it, try it," he urged; "for speed and safety there is nothing like it." And the words of a man with strong faith are strong words. "Besides," he said, "the locomotive is capable of great improvements. It is young yet; its capacities have never been thoroughly tested. When proper inducements are held out, a superior article will be offered to the public."

Never were directors in a greater strait. There was no withstanding Stephenson, for he knew what he was talking about. All the rest were schemers. At last one of the directors said, "Wait; let us offer a prize for a new locomotive, built to answer certain conditions, and see what sort of engine we can get."

That was fair. It was right his engine should be properly tested. All agreed; and in a few days proposals were issued for the building of one. There were eight conditions, two of which were, that if the engine were of six tons' weight it should be able to draw twenty tons at a speed of ten miles an hour. The prize was five hundred pounds.

The offer excited a great deal of attention, and many people made themselves merry at its expense. The conditions were absurd, they said; nobody but a set of fools would have made them. It had already been proved impossible to make a locomotive engine go at ten miles an hour, and one gentleman in his heat even went so far as to say that if it ever were done, he would undertake to eat a stewed engine wheel for his breakfast. As that condition was answered, it is to be hoped he was relieved from his indigestible dish.

More candid minds turned with interest to the development of this new force struggling into notice. Stephenson felt how much depended on the issue. And the public generally concluded to suspend its verdict upon the proper working of railways until time and talent gave them better means of judging.